Here In The Ashes

• Amy Wortmann, Grade 8, Matthew Flinders College
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

Here in the ashes, they played.
Chubby fingers furled around each other. Hair wild and unbrushed, edged with brilliant gold in the sunlight. Eyes wide – wide with innocent joy as they wandered through the passageways of their dreams.
Here in the ashes, they danced.
Slowly at first, tentative as their legs grew accustomed to the energy. Gradually, faster, until they could spin round and around until the world was nothing but a fractured blur, dust stirring around their feet like a golden-brown halo. Her feet were small and nimble, his skilled and dapper; matching her rhythm with a dignified beat that thrummed against the ground in time to their heartbeats.
Here in the ashes, they confessed.
Two pairs of eyes met – his bright and blue, fringed with locks of sun-golden hair; hers dark and dazzling, shining with a light that captured him and held him encompassed in a cradle of purest magic. His words were soft, yet never wavered as he whispered. The corners of her lips twitched, then spread into a smile – in a single moment they were locked into a world of passion in which only they two existed.
Here in the ashes, they ran.
Ran from realisation, ran to escape, ran to seek shelter from the cold world outside. Sought comfort in each other’s arms, whispering futile words of solace into each other’s ears. Tiny strings of words, each one a glistening pearl to be caught and kept and treasured. Promises of how it would be okay, how the world was wrong. How things would get better.
“Angels can fly,” she’d argue. “Who says we can’t?”
And he would sigh and say the same thing; “Wings don’t last forever, my dear.”
Here in the ashes, they fell.
Spiralled down, out of control, sky receding into darkness. Words, harsh and cruel, tore through the silken angel wings of dreams, leaving them bare. Fragile. Ready to shatter as the present set in…
Broken. Lost. Aimless. Reaching out – fingers clasping each other once more. A final caress – tearful goodbye…
Fading as the past seeps into the present.
Here in the ashes, she weeps.
Arms wrapped around a fragile frame, slender shoulders trembling beneath the ruins of a tattered, white gown. Eyes no longer bright – hollow. Growing dimmer.
Here in the ashes, he lingers.
Watches. Waits. Never touches. Tries to call her back, his voice no longer steady – broken, just like the rest of him.
“Why?” She looks up bitterly at the sky. The ashes stir around her feet. Her voice chokes. “You promised.”
She clutches a necklace at her chest. “Angels can fly… but wings don’t last forever.”
Here in the ashes, she surrenders.
Her sobs fade – the light in her eyes flickers and vanishes. Her trembling shoulders relax; a ghost of a smile lingers about her lips.
“I will always love you…”
“… angels can fly…”
“Wings don’t last forever…”
“Come home, my angel…”
Out of the ashes, they fly.